Standing in a Place of Loss: When Academic Life Becomes Untethered

I had a really hard time leaving Canada this time. The university I’ve been teaching at for the last 15yrs “restructured” my department, and many others, and in that process eliminated 67% of courses. As a result many of us contract professors were out of a job. With less than 3months notice I attended several meetings watching my colleagues in full panic trying to accept the injustice of it all.

“I just received the most prestigious teaching award, and now I don’t have a job?” a fellow history professor asked.

“I just got my courses approved last fall and now they’re gone,” exhaled an ancient historian, his voice distraught with confusion and disappointment.

It was a massacre, and the corporate institution didn’t care.

My happy face posing for the town newspaper, titled: “Dr. Carla Ionescu, an instructor in Ancient Greek and Roman Studies at Trent University has been named the 2017 recipient of the Award for Excellence in Teaching”

My mentor, Barrie Wilson, told me many years ago, when he was on board of my dissertation committee, “Don’t get attached to the institution Carla, the institution is not attached to you.” I listened, kinda, but I still fell in love with the campus, the students, the excitement of getting syllabi together in the fall, the exhaustion around Reading Week, and the final class when students tell you how they really feel :)

Now, 15yrs later, long after many teaching accolades, great evaluations and numerous course developments, I find myself at the end of what would’ve been the first week of classes, sitting in an airport in Poland, heading to my homeland of Romania, to spend some time with my cousin who I haven’t seen since 2008.

I am untethered.

Yes, I am teaching online for a college, I have taught with them as a side gig for many years, and I am teaching my own online courses (2) through The Artemis Centre. But my sense of rhythm, routine, and to be very transparent, my identity as a university professor, has been permanently fractured.

The grief is overwhelming. And feels like failure.

I am constantly on the verge of tears, knowing I’ve lost a part of me too soon, a part I had higher hopes for, a life I dreamt of, that was not to be.

Goals of tenure, grants for travel and conferences, and the continued support for archaeological projects and publications feel almost silly now. While no one can take away my PhD and my research work, I am a scholar without a home, without a base, without attachment.

And while I believe one day I will look back on this as the start of something wonderful and independent, I am still in the sad part of grief.

So. How to move forward?

My friend sent me a voice message today encouraging me on the journey saying, “You’re in the liminal space right now, give it time, the way will become clearer.” And while I agree, the word liminal automatically triggered my connection to Artemis. My heart lit like a moon beam, the Goddess shaking Her head at me like a frustrated older sister. She who stands in the liminal spaces. She who has waited patiently for me to complete my studies, drop my day job, and follow Her up the mountain.

Ok. I am leaning into the journey. I am in the liminal space, and I am in great company :)

Artemis Peripeteia in the centre of the Ancient Theatre of Aptera, Crete. A daring symbol of the Artemis Mapping Project. Photo @ artemisexpert